Slave of the Desert Lords
by SoKaWriterChick
Summary: CHAPTER 2 up! The newly edited and soon TBC version of my old story! 'Living as a slave in the sands of Harad, she has nothing to look forward to except the next auction and her newest master...'
1. Prologue

_**I started this a year and a half ago, went away for six weeks during the summer and never really had time to get back into it. Now I'm editing it and posting it as I get through it and then I am going to write some more chapters. (woohoo!) I hope you enjoy… feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome!**_

**Disclaimer: **Tolkien characters and places (namely Harad and Gondor) are not my own. All original characters, plots, places, as well as the details of Harad ARE my own. (the majority of this work) Please respect this.

* * *

_They had been feasting and drinking in celebration of Lord Eldarion's crowning as High King over Gondor and Arnor. Of course there was sadness at the passing of King Elessar but he had ruled a long and glorious reign and it was time. All over Middle-earth, Men and Elves were feasting all night long to the glory of the house of Telcontar. In Ithilien, it was no different-if anything, the music was livelier and the ale was stronger._

_Long past midnight, the fires died down, the music faded into the night and the people finally retired to their beds, drained from their lively jigs and continuous pints. However the night was to end as happily as it had begun._

_The night guards had not exempted themselves from excess drink; they slouched forward in sleep or stupor at their posts. Dark still cloaked the land when figures crept out of the trees surrounding the settlement. The guards never had a chance to sound the alarm before arrows pierced their chests. A late-sleeper (or perhaps early-riser) saw the glimpse of ref and managed to shout before an arrow found its home in his own breast._

_Some in the village who were not overcome by ale struggled awake, thwarting the invaders' attempt at a quick raid. In one house near the far end of the village, the mother roused at the shout and hearing other cries hurried to save her family._

_"Wake up, children, wake up!" she cried, shaking their warm bodies. In minutes, her five offspring were up and about, dressed as quickly as possible. "Run, my children," she urged. "Head into the trees and try to find a hiding spot. Stay together, and no matter what happens, don't come back until the noon sun rises!"_

_The five left silently through the back door, kissing their mother goodbye. Ducking into the trees beyond their house, they fled._

_"Come on!" cried the eldest-a boy of nearly twelve. He went on ahead, faster than the others. _

_"You know they can't keep up, Jonra!" cried his ten-year old sister. _

_"Well, then, carry them!" Jonra picked up his little brother of seven and hurried along. His sister, Asriel, scooped up their smallest sister-who was only five and could not run along as fast as they could. _

_With the youngest in hand, they could travel faster, deeper into the forest. The middle child- another girl of almost nine-hurried behind them, skipping every third step to keep up._

_A shout sounded behind them in a harsh voice. "Some young ones ran this way! Find them Grazal!" _

_"Yes, Captain!" replied another voice, assumed to be Grazal. The sound of trampling bush grew closer, warning of the soldier's imminent arrival._

_Jonra panicked. "Quick, Asriel!" he hissed. "Climb the tree!" _

_Nodding and dropping her youngest sister, Asriel scrambled up a tree, her brother boosting her to a low branch. "Pass me them", she ordered, referring to her younger siblings. _

_Jonra swiftly passed his siblings to her and they started climbing further up the tree. The sound of their hunter grew nearer and tears sprang to Asriel's eyes. "Jonra! You have to climb! Mother said to stay together!" She could sense her brother's wish to stay and defend his family. "You can't do us any good if you're dead Jonra," she added pleadingly._

_Resigned, Jonra boosted himself up onto the lowest branch and then further up into the tree where Asriel was waiting. Just then two things happened. Grazal walked into the clearing where Jonra had just stood; and the youngest girl let out a yelp as she lost her footing springing to a higher branch and fell from the tree._

_Asriel stifled a cry as Jonra flung his hand over her mouth. She whimpered softly, watching the dark figure crouch over their sister. She could see her twitch and moan softly. "She's alive," Jonra spoke for the both of them, relieving their worst fears. But then the man lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of tubers. Fear again entered their stomachs, chilling them to the very marrow of their bones._

_"He's going to take her!" Asriel cried and broke out of her brother's grip. She slid down the trunk, landing awkwardly on the ground. If only she had realized beforehand that by trying to save one of them, she had betrayed them all._

_Apparently, Grazal had signaled his friends without them noticing and within moments Asriel was held tight and arrows were being aimed at the others in the tree. "I know there are more of you," he said gruffly. "Come down, or we will fire 'til we are sure there are none left."_

_Asriel squirmed but she could not get free and she could not try to tell Jonra to stay up there. _

_One man fired an arrow that went wild. No one moved. He fired again. This time the arrow found its resting spot in Jonra's shoulder. He screamed silently but knew that he had no choice but to climb back down with his younger brother and sister. Otherwise, they were certain to die one by one. _

_"This is all of us," he said simply, trying to summon courage into his voice. "Do with us as you will."_

_"Oh don't worry," laughed another, "we will. Bind them!" _

_Jonra and Asriel were tied around their hands and their feet were tied at the ankles as well. The younger ones were all bound and slung over the shoulders of the other men. The eldest two were pulled mercilessly along, through twists and turns in the trees, stumbling over roots and stones on the way._

_They traveled for hours it seemed, until they were sleeping on their feet. "They can't go any faster, Captain," commented a new voice. _

_The captain had apparently rejoined them, and he answered. "We will be at the River Poros soon. Across is waiting reinforcements and the rest of the journey will be smooth."_

_"Yes, Captain", the others answered and Amriel and Jonra were forced on still longer. At the river they were forced to wade across the ford. It was the shallowest it would ever be, but they were drenched to their ribs by the time they made it across. Then, they were helped onto the same horse and slouching onto each other, fell into an uneasy sleep as they were ushered farther from home._

_Through days and nights they rode accompanied by these strange, deeply tanned men, who they learned were the Haradrim of the South. The weather grew hotter as they traveled, apparently unfollowed. Their hopes of being rescued evaporated as the heat pounded on their backs; by the time the Captain announced, "Welcome to Harad, my soft Gondorlings," they cared only of having their bonds removed and their bodies allowed to rest. Nearly a week and a half after their capture, all the prisoners were given a day to sleep and regain strength. Besides Asriel, Jonra and their siblings, there were a score of other children and teens from their village._

_But this story is not about them. _

_As the sun peeked over the horizon the next day and they were again helped onto fresh horses, Jonra felt a pit settle in his stomach. For it was only then that he realized that the Captain had ridden off during the night, taking a few of the prisoners with him. Gone were the twin boys he went squirrel hunting with. Gone was the fire-haired young woman who was betrothed to his cousin. Gone was the boy who refused to let anyone else play marbles with him. And gone was his youngest sister, her brown tendrils of hair and bright eyes, heading miles off to the south, while the remainder of the caravan turned towards the west and the sea. Jonra could see no other option than to conclude that his darling sister was lost forever…. _


	2. The Auction

"Girl! Get up! If you make me late, I won't even bother selling you!" The shouts wafted into the small ragged tent. "I'll just let you wander in the desert and be killed! Girl! I'm serious! _Mamluka_, you will be the death of me!"

The flap of the tent was thrown open and a small, deeply tanned man stood there, fuming. "_Mamluka_, I am giving you ten minutes to get together and then we are leaving, whether you be clothed or not!" He stormed out again, the flap of the tent floating a bit in the breeze he created. Only when peace had resumed did the girl poke her head out from under her blanket.

"Ay!" she moaned to herself. "Does Akil _think_ I want to go to another auction? Does he think that I want to be paraded around, poked and prodded by strange creepy men?" She rose, draping the blanket over her for it was early yet, and the cold night air was lingering on.

"_Mamluka_, _mamluka_, _mamluka_! That is all he has ever called me..." Mamluka continued to grumble to herself as she dressed, wrapping herself in worn red linen. For she was _Mamluka_, slave girl, and she had known no other name in her memory. Her old garb fell as a long skirt, covering her legs to the sandy floor. The top covered her torso and ended draped across her upper body and over her right shoulder.

On her head, Mamluka wore a simple headdress also of red linen that covered the top of her head and trailed down her back. If need be, she could twist it over her face so only her eyes peeked out. Lastly, she fastened on her feet light goat-hide sandals, hand-me-downs from Akil's sister.

Ducking out of her tent, she was immediately grabbed by Akil. "Mamluka! Why did you not wear the new linen that I brought you? You look like, like, a desert tramp in this!" he exclaimed, outraged.

"Because I chose not to roast in the sun under that heavy second-hand rug that you shoved off on me!" Mamluka replied indignantly. "If you think that I did not recognize it from your market loot last week you are mistaken."

She ignored Akil's gaping stares and went about saddling the two horses tied outside her tent. Inside she gloated at having spoken back to her master. Mamluka knew that Akil would not dare hit her on the morning of an auction.

"Come along now, Master", she called sweetly. "Or we will be late, and get a bad post, and you will be stuck with me for another three months." Mamluka smirked as Akil finished loading their supplies onto a packhorse and mounted his own strong steed. Her own was slightly underweight and definitely would not win any derbies. He was, as herself, of the North. But he had taken to the sweltering heat much worse than she had. This was likely to be one of his last rides before he found his final resting place in a pot and a tanning tent.

"I will be glad to get rid of you, girl," said Akil, looking her once over. Without waiting for her response, he rode off swiftly before Mamluka was even on horseback. He had no fear of her not following. A brand on her wrist clearly marked her as a slave and to be a slave riding unaccompanied or without special documents was warrant for death in this desert land. Mamluka just grinned to herself and rode on behind him. As her horse moved beneath her, Mamluka's thoughts wandered, as they were prone to do.

Her most recent master did not quite fit the definition of a Man of Harad: tall, strong, built to be a warrior from the swaddling clothes. Akil was, on the contrary, short and a bit overweight, as well as highly greedy... though that was characteristic of the Corsairs of Umbar, his forefathers. He had picked her up further north, not twelve months ago, when he had decided to try his luck in the desert. Mamluka credited her own behavior as reason why he had given up and was headed back to the coast.

Really, Akil hadn't treated her so bad. He had actually been too afraid of her and too proud to be insulted by her wit and pretty much let her be. Before Akil though, there had been many others: her first was a Captain of Haradrim who brought her to be a plaything for his daughters. She had been only five then and had stayed with them almost a full two years until they tired with her. The Captain was a wealthy man, having no need of money. Instead of selling her at auction, he gave her to one of his men, a reward for years of service and loyalty. Mamluka still shuddered when she thought of how she had been treated as a material item all of these years.

That man had been cruel and her almost pleasant life with the Captain's family had not prepared her for what lay ahead. Nothing that she did seemed to satisfy him. Mamluka was forced to work from before dawn to long after dusk every day for three years, her longest stay with any one master. Her biggest job was working with the other slaves to pack and unpack tents and possessions every few days when the family moved. The nomadic lifestyle exhausted her and the other slaves even made it worse.

Though all were slaves, the others, except for one, were dark-skinned, dark-haired and dark-eyed Haradrim. They had been captured through wars with other tribes, punished for criminal acts or had been sold into service by poverty- stricken families. Mamluka stuck out like a vibrant flower against a background of death-ridden desert. Her hair was light brown, her skin still pale in comparison to the deep tans of the others. Worst of all, her hazel eyes isolate her from the pack, encouraging pointing, rude gestures and spitting in her direction. Whenever something went wrong, Mamluka was the one that was blamed for it. Her Master himself carried out the punishments, beating her bare back and legs with a slender bamboo rod, made all the crueler by its sharp thorns. The wounds never fully healed while she remained with him, being reopened time and again before finally settling into disfiguring scars after she left his service.

Mamluka was forced to count herself lucky, or at least be thankful that she was still too young to be any good to men. The other Northern slave struck her as familiar, but Mamluka could not figure out where she was from. She was tall and pretty, with hair the color of the roaring fires keeping thieves and cold away. Mamluka looked on for a year and a half as the young woman was kept as a personal "servant" to her Master. Finally, she was put out of her misery, dead from her labors of birthing the stillborn son of the Master. 

After long years of traveling from place to place, never settling long at any location, her Master grew annoyed at Mamluka and sold her so that he could get a better, more cooperative slave. And so, at age ten, Mamluka was taken to her first slave auction. She had been mounted on a bamboo- fashioned box, tied at the ankles and forced to stand stock-still while tall Haradrim with moneybags mulled around, looking for a slave that caught their eye. When someone did come to take a closer look, Mamluka had to let them inspect her, feeling her bones, examining her teeth and sticking their grubby hands in her mouth. She had no choice but to obey with her Master's beady glare fixed on her.

She had been sold for thirteen silver coins-a fair price for the skimpy Northerner that she was. When the deal was completed, Mamluka had just been relieved that the auction was over and hoped nothing more than that her new master would keep her and she wouldn't have to experience this ordeal ever again, but unfortunately it was not to be. Until she was sixteen, Mamluka went from master to master, never spending much over a year with any of them. All together in those six plus years, Mamluka had been shuttled off to nine slave auctions and had nine different masters-some cruel, some fair (though these were few); some single fortune-seekers, some with large families of proud sons and beautiful daughters. Ever since the Captain though, her masters had all been nomads and she had traveled hundreds and hundreds of miles in her short life.

Akil was the tenth master since her Master, whom she had known by no other name. Despite his shortcomings, her time with him had not been as bad as some of his countrymen. He had made sure she had sandals that fit, linen that covered her, a horse to ride.

Mamluka shook herself back to the present. Noise grew ahead, and the abundant tents, people and mounts that were common to a slave auction drew into focus. Akil slowed down and she did the same.

Akil and Mamluka dismounted, passing the horses off to a slave to tie up. Akil drew near to Mamluka. "Cover yourself", Akil hissed in her ear. Mamluka did not argue; she wanted nothing more than to blend in, and she quickly fashioned her headpiece to cover her face. Soon, her features were limited to two hazel green eyes peeping out of red linen.

Akil had already started off and Mamluka hurried to catch up. "Keep your eyes down... and make sure you keep two steps behind me at all times", Akil demanded.

Usually, Mamluka would have argued with Akil (it kept the days interesting) but not here, not surrounded by so many others. Even if Akil hadn't told her to look at the ground, she would have of her own accord. She did not care to look upon the awful auction sites any more than she had to: slaves being forced to stand uncomfortably in the heat, men with roving hands, young children gawking and playing tricks on the slaves. In addition, she hated drawing stares for her eyes. From her dozen years living in the Southlands, her skin had become deeply tanned and her hair was covered with her headpiece. If it were not for her eyes, she could pass as a Haradrim girl... but her eyes were always there green, piercing, ostracizing. 

"Mamluka, up here!" Akil spoke sharply after nearly ten minutes of shoving through bustling crowds, the noise of which hurt Mamluka's ears.

"Yes, Akil," Mamluka sighed and stepped up unto the bamboo box, a vantage point that had become all too familiar.

"I am sorry I have to do this," Akil whispered as he tied her ankle loosely to the box, "but you know that those are the rules." Mamluka just shrugged. Akil did have a heart underneath his greed and Corsair chest. 

As she stood, now two feet above her normal height, Mamluka surveyed her surroundings. She noted that for the first time she was in the woman's section, composed of girls of around her age to those in their mid-thirties or so. The last time she had been on auction was only a year ago, but she had been scrawny with barely a figure to speak of (Akil's better care had led to a much postponed growth spurt). They had stuck her in the children's section where she had been the oldest there-though she had been chosen early and did not have to stand all day in the heat as the others did.

Mamluka shook all thoughts out of her head. She had learned from her previous experiences that thinking only made the heat pound worse and the knees go weak quicker. Instead, Mamluka fixed her eyes at a spot on the ground some ten feet away and shut off her mind. If this time were anything like the others, she would still have a long wait ahead.


	3. The Chieftain

The sun grew higher in the sky, and still no one approached Akil. He had sat down on the edge of her box platform and was looking eagerly into the crowd for a prospective buyer. Mamluka fidgeted and fought the urge to sit. The girl who had been next to her was a beautiful Haradrim maiden. She was wearing a flimsy pink garment that brought her six (Mamluka had counted) spectators within the first hour Mamluka was there. And that was not counting the ogling young boys who tried to see up her skirt. She was sure she would have had more had not the sixth one bought her for three gold coins and a nice sized bag of silver. Mamluka almost laughed at herself when she realized she was jealous at the price the girl had been bought for. Being bought like a horse was nothing to be envious of, she repeated silently.

The sun had reached its peak overhead and Mamluka could barely keep her back straight. It was unbearably hot under the noon sun, she thought to herself, and much of the crowd seemed to agree. Many had drawn off to the tents along the edges for a rest until the sun began its descent.

"Akil", Mamluka whispered loudly. "Can I please sit down for a—" she started to ask. But was silenced when a man approached her box and Akil jumped up.

"Good afternoon, my Lord," Akil began politely. Mamluka noticed his abundant gold and jewels that he wore even in this heat, and decided that Akil was probably right-this man was definitely a lord, a chieftain probably.

"A noon as any other, sir", the man spoke elegantly, confirming Mamluka's suspicions. "This is your slave?" he asked gently.

"Yes, yes", said Akil. "Mamluka has been a very good slave, strong, obedient," he continued. Mamluka worked hard to keep a straight face. Obedient was something that she had not been, to Akil at least.

"Does she work well?" he asked, barely seeming to pay attention to Akil, his eyes surveying the other slaves in the area.

"Very well", Akil assured.

"Then why would you be selling her?" the man said, turning to Akil, his eyes laughing.

The man seemed experienced, having certainly used this trick on many other men to get them to confess their lies. "I am moving back to the coast, my Lord", Akil answered smoothly. "I have tried my luck in these hot deserts and I have decided that life in Umbar suits me better. I do not feel it necessary to bring Mamluka with me."

Mamluka noticed that Akil was taking extra care to enunciate and avoid slang, as opposed to his usual shouts and slurs. She also saw that this answer was acceptable to the man and he turned to her. His eyes looked her over slowly from head to foot and back up to her face. His gaze seemed to pierce through her body and heat rose to her face.

"Look up", the man commanded to Mamluka.

All this time she had continued staring at the ground, only peering at him out of the corner of her eye. Warily, she looked up, her green eyes glittering in the lambent rays of the sun. Mamluka was slightly confused by the look on the Lord's face. Unusually, it was _not_ one of surprise. Instead, a flash of confirmation and a knowing smile flitted on his face, before it was cloaked by the mask of the bargainer.

"And how did you come into service... Mamluka, was it?" the man asked to her directly. For a moment, Mamluka couldn't answer. Her own masters, besides the Captain and Akil, had rarely spoken to her by name, let alone a stranger.

"I...I..." Mamluka stuttered. The man was quickly losing interest though and so she sucked in a deep breath and spoke. "I do not know m'Lord," she answered quickly. "I was taken, I assume..." Mamluka trailed off, not knowing what to say in the man's silence, her brief courage evaporating.

However, her comments seemed to cultivate the man's interest. Akil motioned behind the man's back, encouraging her to go on.

"How old are you?" the man asked. He had a calculating look in his eye that Mamluka did not know whether to fear or rejoice in.

"Seventeen," she answered, feigning pride. "And I have been in service for a dozen years," she added, though she did not know why she felt compelled to.

"Can you take off your scarf," he spoke in response. Whatever the wording of the phrase, it was an order, not a request that could be fulfilled or denied. Mamluka looked over at Akil pleadingly, but he offered no help. Frustrated at both men, she slowly unfastened her headpiece so that it fell down her back yet again. Her face felt the heat from the sun immediately and she cringed. "All of it", he said, not satisfied.

Mamluka uncomfortably removed the headpiece completely, twisting the linen anxiously in her hands. Her long curly brown tendrils sprung lightly about her shoulders and spilled down her back. "No more", she said softly, though knowing if he asked, she would have to do as he said.

Thankfully though, he did not ask her to remove any more of her garments and she breathed a silent sigh of relief. He then turned back to Akil, leaving Mamluka again to stare out into the crowd.

"How did you obtain her?" the man asked softly to Akil, as if not wanting Mamluka to hear. Indeed, she had to strain and pretend to be fixing her skirt to pick up the words.

"Slave auction near the coast, 'bout a year ago, not too far from Umbar," he answered.

"And you do not know her history either?" the man probed.

Akil shook his head. "Nothing, my Lord. She seems not to remember anything beyond her enslavement, though she must be from the North as you can plainly see, and twelve years makes sense." Akil nodded towards Mamluka and she again felt the strange man's gaze taking her in. She fidgeted nervously, wanting to put back on her headpiece. Her unusual appearance was attracting other unwelcome gazes as well.

"Well she seems pretty enough," the man spoke decisively to Akil. "I will take her."

Akil could barely contain his enthusiasm. "Yes, sir, my Lord. Thank you for considering Mamluka. She will serve you well, yes, she will."

The man removed a red-dyed money pouch from within his garments and began doling out coins. Mamluka watched attentively out of the corner of her eye. She was interested to know how much she would go for; one of the few accomplishments a slave could really claim was her highest selling price. She was also very anxious.

"Seems pretty enough", she thought over in her mind while she and Akil both waited for the man to come to a price. "But pretty enough for what..." The thought trailed off in her mind as the man's comment had from his mouth. Mamluka knew though that there was some continuation to it; he had just chosen not to share it with Akil, perhaps suspecting that she was listening in on the negotiations.

"There, how's that for your _mamluka_?" the man spoke, holding out his hand. In it were six gold coins and a pile of silvers. Mamluka could barely keep from gaping and Akil's eyes appeared for a moment as if they were ready to spring from his head. Usually, he would have bargained arguing that Mamluka was worth more than this... but he had only been expecting a small bag of silver, maybe a pair of gold coins. This... this was unpredictable.

Keeping back his excitement, Akil nodded. "Yes, yes I think that is a fair price for a hard-working slave as Mamluka." As if afraid that the man would take back his offer Akil swiftly produced his own moneybag to seal the transaction. The coins clinked joyfully as they slipped into the worn pouch that as of late, had become too light for Akil's liking.

"Thank you my Lord," Akil continued murmuring as he untied Mamluka's ankle. "May you and your children and their children live long and healthy lives under the sun of Harad." The man smiled, amused at Akil's chatter.

"May you pillage long on the ships of your kin", he replied. He smiled at Mamluka almost friend-like and she bowed her head slightly in return.

"Aye, sir, my Lord," Akil interjected nervously. "May I just bid Mamluka off?" he finished.

"Of course, of course. I need to make sure of something before I leave as well." The man wandered off to talk to a swarthy merchant a few stalls down, but still in sight.

Akil held out his hand, and Mamluka accepted his help getting down, her knees almost buckling under her from the sudden movement. "I wish you well in your new venture", Mamluka said awkwardly.

"And you in yours. He seems a fine man and master," Akil responded. "Not to mention a liberal spender", he whispered with a chuckle. Mamluka just shook her head and smiled. She might actually miss Akil's greedy antics.

"Ah...Akil? Would you know why he would care if I were pretty?" Mamluka wondered aloud.

Akil just shrugged. "I do not know and do not ask. Being too curious has spoiled many a good deal," he said with experience. "Well, here he returns, Mamluka. Let life treat us both as well as our stations permit." Akil smiled once more, nodded to the man and backed off, leaving Mamluka behind. For a moment, she was tempted to call after him, but shook it off. Just another master, albeit one of the better ones, she thought to herself.

"Mamluka?" She broke out of her trance and turned to face the man she would now be taking orders from.

"Yes, Master?" she asked obediently, not knowing yet what she would be able to get away with.

"Is Mamluka your real name?" he asked.

Mamluka shrugged. "I've never known any other," she answered.

"So Mamluka it will be then. Come along-it is not a short ride to the city and I do not like to stop on the way." The man turned and was about to walk away, expecting Mamluka to follow.

"Master?" she asked hesitantly. He stopped and turned silently. She took this as permission to continue. "May I ask who you are... and... where we are going?"

The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement as he thought for a moment before answering. "I am Makai, one of the twelve Chieftains of Harad. We are going to Yazgran. Does that answer your questions?"

Mamluka nodded, afraid to ask more and Lord Makai turned and continued walking. Mamluka hurried after him, walking quickly to keep up. The sun had started its descent in the sky and the auction was back in full swing. Noticing the stares that she was still getting, Mamluka fastened her headpiece back on, hoping that Makai wouldn't object, but he didn't even turn to make sure she was after him.

As they neared the edge of the auction, Mamluka saw ahead a small gathering of tents, men and horses. Makai was already calling to one of the men to get ready to depart. Looking behind, Mamluka said a quiet goodbye to Akil and the desert, her stomach filled with conflicting eagerness and anxiety.

She had only heard tale of it in her years of wanderings with one master or another. It was a great city supposedly, a secret oasis hidden in the desert. Her heart lifted; maybe life in the city would be better, but then anything would be better than the bitter heat and biting wind of the open sand-country. Thrill filled her, as she spoke the name under her breath.

"_Yazgran_."


End file.
